Read Online Hemispheres by Stephen Baker - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Stephen Baker
Tags: Literature
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I sat.
Last night, she said. Did you notice anything?
Like what.
It got cold.
I didn’t notice.
I woke up in me bed and it was cold. It was so cold I couldn’t move and me breath was making crystals. I was frozen stiff
as a board.
You were dreaming mam.
I was lying there paralysed. And there was someone standing at the foot of the bed. A man.
What did he look like?
You couldn’t see him. He was just there. And you could feel him. Just a feeling of malice, like he meant me harm. It was steaming
off him.
So what happened?
I dunno. I sat up and he was gone and the room was warm again.
You were dreaming.
I need to know what he wants.
Why?
Ghosts want something, don’t they?
I dunno. I can’t breathe with this fucking gas fire.
Gary Hagan wandered in with a bottle of Mexican lager in one hand and calfskin loafers on his feet. He sat down in Yan’s chair.
What you watching Katie?
The way he was looking at her, seeing the long legs in tight stone-washed denim and the sunbed skin and blueblack hair like
a fall of coaldust. Not seeing the nicotine stains on her teeth and the cracks in her skin, not smelling the raw panic on
her breath. She was ten years older than him but she’d still pass for thirty.
Trajan padded over to him and sniffed at his groin and he looked worried but made a show of rubbing the dog’s ears.
Who’s behind the bar Gaz? said Kate.
Lads are looking after it.
You’ve got it under control, then.
Aye. Just leave it to me Katie.
She settled to watch the TV again. She flicked a sly look at Hagan.
You got big muscles Gaz.
Got to keep yourself in shape.
He was practically purring.
Aye. You’re almost as big as my Yan.
Right.
He was – He is –
She burst out laughing.
Which is it?
Laughed again.
If he walked in now, right. I’d deck him. One hard punch. It was that bastard showed me how to throw a good punch. You know,
not a lass’s punch.
You’re a tough cookie Katie.
And after I’d decked him, she whispered, breathily. I’d drag him down on the floor and fuck his brains out. Fuck them right
out.
She was looking right at Hagan with her face wide open.
When Kate was asleep on the sofa I went into her bedroom and found the shoebox of Yan’s stuff at the back of the bottom drawer
in her dresser. There was an old paperweight and a wet shaver and a box of cufflinks, one of them old digital watches with
the liquid crystal all faded away to nowt and a bunch of keys. I expected photos but there weren’t any. Maybe nobody could
afford a camera when they were growing up. And there was Yan’s old diary for nineteen eighty-one.
I rifled through it in the green half-light seeping through bedroom curtains. There weren’t many names and addresses in the
back and most of these I didn’t recognize. But a couple of them rang a bell. I jammed the little diary in my back pocket and
closed the shoebox and buried it again at the back of Kate’s drawer.
The curtains were closed in the saloon and the darkness was prickling with dust so thick you could taste it. I moved over
to the bar, feet squeaking on the lino tiles, and when I got there I lifted the flap and ducked through. I had my finger in
the dial of the phone and then Ithought you don’t just ring someone out of the blue and expect them to spill their guts. It has to be face to face.
Okay. I triggered the till and cushioned the noise when it opened. Plenty of notes in there. Hagan only cashed up once or
twice a week. My breath was coming quick, spots swimming in my vision. But I stretched out a hand and brushed the pile of
banknotes and then snatched it back when the front door banged and voices clattered in the hallway.
It’s showtime, Magoo was yelling.
I slammed the till shut and got back into the mixer store. Got the cellar trapdoor open and tumbled inside and lowered the
lid again. Boots in the saloon, dockers and dealers, on the boarded floor behind the bar. Resounding
I sat.
Last night, she said. Did you notice anything?
Like what.
It got cold.
I didn’t notice.
I woke up in me bed and it was cold. It was so cold I couldn’t move and me breath was making crystals. I was frozen stiff
as a board.
You were dreaming mam.
I was lying there paralysed. And there was someone standing at the foot of the bed. A man.
What did he look like?
You couldn’t see him. He was just there. And you could feel him. Just a feeling of malice, like he meant me harm. It was steaming
off him.
So what happened?
I dunno. I sat up and he was gone and the room was warm again.
You were dreaming.
I need to know what he wants.
Why?
Ghosts want something, don’t they?
I dunno. I can’t breathe with this fucking gas fire.
Gary Hagan wandered in with a bottle of Mexican lager in one hand and calfskin loafers on his feet. He sat down in Yan’s chair.
What you watching Katie?
The way he was looking at her, seeing the long legs in tight stone-washed denim and the sunbed skin and blueblack hair like
a fall of coaldust. Not seeing the nicotine stains on her teeth and the cracks in her skin, not smelling the raw panic on
her breath. She was ten years older than him but she’d still pass for thirty.
Trajan padded over to him and sniffed at his groin and he looked worried but made a show of rubbing the dog’s ears.
Who’s behind the bar Gaz? said Kate.
Lads are looking after it.
You’ve got it under control, then.
Aye. Just leave it to me Katie.
She settled to watch the TV again. She flicked a sly look at Hagan.
You got big muscles Gaz.
Got to keep yourself in shape.
He was practically purring.
Aye. You’re almost as big as my Yan.
Right.
He was – He is –
She burst out laughing.
Which is it?
Laughed again.
If he walked in now, right. I’d deck him. One hard punch. It was that bastard showed me how to throw a good punch. You know,
not a lass’s punch.
You’re a tough cookie Katie.
And after I’d decked him, she whispered, breathily. I’d drag him down on the floor and fuck his brains out. Fuck them right
out.
She was looking right at Hagan with her face wide open.
When Kate was asleep on the sofa I went into her bedroom and found the shoebox of Yan’s stuff at the back of the bottom drawer
in her dresser. There was an old paperweight and a wet shaver and a box of cufflinks, one of them old digital watches with
the liquid crystal all faded away to nowt and a bunch of keys. I expected photos but there weren’t any. Maybe nobody could
afford a camera when they were growing up. And there was Yan’s old diary for nineteen eighty-one.
I rifled through it in the green half-light seeping through bedroom curtains. There weren’t many names and addresses in the
back and most of these I didn’t recognize. But a couple of them rang a bell. I jammed the little diary in my back pocket and
closed the shoebox and buried it again at the back of Kate’s drawer.
The curtains were closed in the saloon and the darkness was prickling with dust so thick you could taste it. I moved over
to the bar, feet squeaking on the lino tiles, and when I got there I lifted the flap and ducked through. I had my finger in
the dial of the phone and then Ithought you don’t just ring someone out of the blue and expect them to spill their guts. It has to be face to face.
Okay. I triggered the till and cushioned the noise when it opened. Plenty of notes in there. Hagan only cashed up once or
twice a week. My breath was coming quick, spots swimming in my vision. But I stretched out a hand and brushed the pile of
banknotes and then snatched it back when the front door banged and voices clattered in the hallway.
It’s showtime, Magoo was yelling.
I slammed the till shut and got back into the mixer store. Got the cellar trapdoor open and tumbled inside and lowered the
lid again. Boots in the saloon, dockers and dealers, on the boarded floor behind the bar. Resounding
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